Many Things
by aecul
Summary: "You're many things, Hiccup, but a dragon-killer is not one of them." So then, what am I? Longish drabbles, sporadic updates.
1. Artist

This week I went to see HTTYD for the second time, this time in 3D, and it was a thousand times better than I remembered. Plus, I got a drabbley-fanfic idea out of it. :) I'm hoping this is the first of many chapters; I guess we'll see how it goes. This is my first shot at a multi-chapter thing that I didn't write all at once, so constructive criticism would be great!

Disclaimer: All I own of _How to Train Your Dragon _is a poster/ Walmart ad, which has found a home up on my bedroom wall. And the coloring books. But that's it, sadly.

Enjoy!

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_Many Things_

Chapter 1. _Artist_

Hiccup did not like art. He hated techniques of every shape and order. There was nothing he would rather do than chuck his sketchbook into the ocean.

But he never did. He carried it around with him just about everywhere, tucked tight under his arm and with a pencil clenched in his hand. He was always reluctant to actually start drawing something; it usually took a long time, and he would die of embarrassment if someone showed up looking for Gobber and found him at it ("Sheez, Hiccup, that is _one macho flower_ you're drawing there. What are you doing next? A princess?"). Besides, he hated drawing, right?

But when he went out into the woods, or holed up in his bedroom, and put his pencil to the paper, he had the time of his life. He loved watching the lines coming from his pencil tip and scratching, running, shading, filling up the blank whiteness. He loved the end results: _Cool, I did that? _He sort of liked when a drawing got messed up, which was rare, and he got to tear it to shreds. It was as though he had a tiny bit of power over whether the picture lived or died (which was decent when your own village didn't much care whether _you_ lived or died).

But then, when he was finished with whatever he had done, he went right back to despising drawing altogether.

Hiccup was unconsciously thrilled to become Gobber's apprentice. Okay, so it sounds a bit weird to say he liked working with sharp objects, but that's exactly how he felt, even if he didn't quite know it. There was just…something…about pounding metal into instruments (or weapons, but "instruments" sounds nicer). He lived for the day when he completed a sword, and he would grip the hilt, swinging it from side to side, envisioning dragons beneath the blade. Usually, then, just as his dragon was nearly slain, Gobber would trundle through the door, and Hiccup would almost accidentally lop off his head.

"Oy!" Gobber would say. "Put that sword away, lad, before you damage something."

Hiccup would frown, watching his imaginary dragon slink off with a smirk on its detestable face.

Swords weren't the only things Hiccup worked on in the shop. He liked building stuff just as much, fitting different pieces together like a magnificent puzzle, tongue between his lips, until it turned into something functioning and useful. He stuck with every project like this he was assigned, no matter how many burns or splinters he got, no matter how difficult it turned out to be. Eventually, seeing the final product was worth it all.

In spare moments he put together little inventions, like a collapsible (but highly erratic) dagger, and a lock for his bedroom door. The biggest and best thing he ever made on his own was his Mangler, intended to bring down an entire dragon. He supposed it could be some kind of art if he wanted it to be, but he didn't at all. He didn't like art, remember?

Yet he kept on drawing, kept on pounding, kept on building. It was his world, and in a way, it was wonderful.

* * *

One day, while Hiccup was doing some random picture of a tree in his sketchbook (far more things had been catching his attention lately, since his whole life had changed, and he wanted to capture them on paper), Astrid bounced over and flopped down on the ground beside him. She studied the tree in from of them, then squinted at his drawing over his shoulder. Her eyebrows went up. "Wow, Hiccup! Look at you. You're an artist!"

His head shot up. "What? Really?"

"Yep."

He wasn't quite sure what to think of that; but _Hiccup Haddock the Artist_ didn't really sound too bad.

* * *

So. What did you think? If you liked it, of course I would love if you reviewed, but what I would really like to know is if you didn't like it and why; because I want the next chapters to be better.  
Thanks everyone! God bless!

Kay...if you read it before, I edited it a tiny bit...thanks, Ari-Griffin. :)


	2. Dragon Rider

This is an entire redo of Chapter Two. I have to say I like this one better, but I'm afraid it's not terribly exciting; sorry.

I got the idea as you might guess from watching the clouds one day, on my way home from school. Hope you like it!

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Chapter 2. _Dragon Rider_

_"Three hundred years, and I'm the first Viking who wouldn't kill a dragon."  
__"...First to ride one, though."  
_-_HTTYD_

_They wanted space, and it was theirs.  
- _Maiya Williams,_ Hour of the Cobra_

* * *

Clouds. He could lie on his back watching them for hours.

His favorites were the clouds that threatened of rain on a bright sunny day, various shades of shadowy gray dimpling their undersides and tops glowing with white halos from the sunlight cast across them. These clouds made deep shadows on the world beneath them, and since the sun broke into the shadows, a daytime twilight resulted. Under the murky ceiling of sky, every blade of grass had a sharp black outline; every leaf was visibly defined.

Other clouds he liked were the ones that covered up the sun almost entirely, leaving little open chinks so the light filtered through, like a spider-web-thin golden ladder straight up to the sky.

Sometimes the clouds moved fast, when the wind was blowing hard or a storm was on the way. Sometimes they drifted lazily, great white exploding puffs, and these were the best for picking out shapes: a ship with sails unfurled, the ruins of a fortress, a dragon breathing endless streams of fire.

He knew that people dreamed of flight, of clouds; he had himself, on occasion, simply because he saw the soaring birds and wondered what it would be like for him to do it too; but flying had never been some aching desire.

Until the very day he found his Night Fury couldn't. The boy saw the dragon's earnest emerald eyes; they both knew what it was like to be trapped. He watched as Toothless repeatedly, and unsuccessfully, flung himself upwards at the steep earthen walls. He landed hard every time, but then he would get right up and try again.

The boy learned a new side to perseverance: keeping at it even if what you are attempting is _impossible_.

He also continued to see himself in his draconian friend, because they were both painfully stuck, with no obvious way out of their present situations. He realized how desperately he _needed_ Toothless to fly again; it was a challenge to his own mire, for if the dragon got out, why couldn't he?

But there was no way for the Night Fury to do it on his own.

The boy spent all night on a brand new tail fin, constructing, sewing, measuring, nailing, smoothing, testing. His very few minutes of sleep, before dawn dragged him awake again, were filled with dreams of the sky. He supposed Toothless must dream of the same thing, and, hopefully, their hopes would be fulfilled by that afternoon.

And so they were.

Flying was magnificent, breath-taking. No matter how often he got onto the dragon's back, the first rush of air as they took off always made his face flush and set his heart pounding. There was liberty in the sky that was nowhere else, clamoring with the wind in his ears, battering against him from every side. Toothless undoubtedly felt it too, judging from the way he badgered the boy to take him up when he came down from the village to visit, and from the way the dragon positively reveled in flight. The freedom was intoxicating.

They would go down to the ocean and skim over the surface, catching the salty spray in their faces. They would race adrenaline-inducing mazes through quarries of razor-sharp rocks, protruding hazardously from the fog-laden sea. They would catch air currents and soar just like the birds. They would fly in bitter, freezing rain, as it whipped past them, burning and blinding, and he shivered and grinned against the dragon's warm back, clutching the ropes, lifting his face to the storm.

He knew absolutely nothing that was remotely equivalent to the sky; it was an undiscovered paradise. It was closer to heaven than he would have imagined possible on earth. He really loved every part of it-

but the boy loved most (and Astrid too, eventually) when Toothless slowed down a little, and he could reach his hands up, up,

running his fingers through the wispy, soggy, shining clouds.

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I'm really into descriptive writing right now; can you tell? :)

I would love to know what you thought of this. Please review!

God bless you guys!


	3. Son

Chapter 3. _Son_

_"Excuse me, barmaid, I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring! I ordered an extra-large boy with beefy arms, extra guts and glory on the side. This here, this is a talking fish-bone!"_

* * *

Hiccup cared about a lot of things. He cared about the other people on Berk, he cared about his reputation, he cared about his job at Gobber's store. He cared that he was an underdog; he cared that he didn't have any friends.

But every single one of these things paled in comparison when it came to caring what his father thought of him.

Stoick was not just another Viking; he practically _defined_ Viking. If Hiccup had had an ordinary father, maybe he could have dealt with it…but he didn't, and he couldn't. He complained to Gobber about how he didn't have a girlfriend, but really, he could live without a girlfriend. He sighed when the other teenagers snubbed and insulted him; but when it came down to it, their verbal torture was just another stone in the bucket. The deepest scars came from his dad: the evident disappointment in his voice when Hiccup messed up. The conversations about him with other Vikings that Stoick didn't even try to hide from his son. The silent glances that sized the boy up, and that always turned away with _Unsatisfactory_ and _Shameful_ hanging in the air; those things were what slapped Hiccup the hardest, the things that kept him awake at night. Those things were the biggest pain he ever knew.

Even when Toothless came along, and provided him with an actual _friend_, not to mention respite from the drone of his outcast-on-Berk life, he hid the dragon. Why? Because he knew _exactly_ how furious his father would be if he found out. And yet, he did his very best in the training ring; he hated the idea of having to kill a dragon, and he would do anything in his power to avoid it, but imagine his father's face if he were named best in the class! It was a triumph he couldn't give up.

Until the very day it came. He had told himself there was a chance his plan would succeed; Stoick would realize that they had been wrong about dragons, and who knew? Maybe he would finally be appreciated by his dad.

But of course, everything went wrong. It turned out worse than Hiccup had even dared to imagine: not only did he lose the only friend he'd ever had, but his father's words burned straight to his heart: _"You're not my son."_

If he had been any less angry over Toothless' "kidnapping", Hiccup would probably have burst into tears.

Everything Hiccup had ever done up till that day was to try and please his father; every time he had attempted to bring down a dragon (and usually brought down a disaster instead), it was for his dad. Every time he built something cool, he brought it home to work on and made it painfully obvious that he wanted his father to say something, anything!, about how Hiccup had talent or was a hard worker. But the Viking chief never did.

Couldn't Stoick see that his approval was all that mattered?

When Hiccup set out for the dragons' nest, of course his heart was being pulled towards Toothless. Of course he wanted to rescue his friend. And obviously he was frantic over all the other Vikings who had set out on the ships, because they hadn't a chance against the Red Death on their own. But the most important reason was that he had one chance to win back his father's pride, and he was most definitely going to take it.

That was why, fighting the Red Death, he had no real concern over his own welfare; if it could gain Stoick's acceptance, he would trade the whole world.

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Please review!

God bless!


	4. Outsider

Hey, I'm back! Thanks so much to everyone who's read and reviewed so far! :)

Eep, I've been forgetting a disclaimer. Well, here it is: _Disclaimer- I still do not own HTTYD._

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Chapter 4: _Outsider_

_"Now, where did Hiccup go wrong today?"_

_"Uh, he showed up?"_

* * *

Another day of dragon training, another day of let's-bash-Hiccup, another day of spending quite a lot of time running for your life and a little actually fighting.

It was late afternoon, and the sunlight cast deep criss-crossed shadows over the training ring. The six trainees had positioned themselves in an uncomfortable circle, Tuffnut and Snotlout standing off to the side; Hiccup, feeling invisible, seated across from Fishlegs; and Astrid playing with Ruffnut's hair in between them. Gobber had left about ten minutes ago to get a couple extra shields (since everyone had managed to bust up the ones he'd brought that morning), instructing the kids to STAY PUT until he came back.

Hiccup couldn't imagine Ruffnut sitting still long enough to get her hair braided, but that was exactly what she was doing, chattering away to Astrid about some-girl-thing-or-other. The girls were the only source of action in the ring, so four pairs of eyes were fixed on Astrid's fingers as she pulled strands of blond hair into place. Ruffnut turned her head to look sideways at Fishlegs, who had begun mumbling under his breath.

"What-"

"Hold _still_, Ruff," Astrid frowned, shoving Ruffnut's shoulder to get her to look straight again.

"Ow!"

Fishlegs raised his voice a tiny bit, and Ruffnut glared at him. "_What_ are you talking about?"

"Did you know a Monstrous Nightmare can shoot fire at a rate faster than it can fly?" Fishlegs said hopefully. Ruffnut rolled her eyes. "Great, I guess."

"And at night a Gronkle can only see twelve feet in front of it-"

Snotlout snorted and Tuffnut burst out laughing.

Hiccup, who had been ignoring Fishlegs and studying Astrid (irritatedly aware of him out of the corner of her eye), startled. "What?"

"Inside joke," Astrid informed him without looking up.

"Oh." He paused. "Okay."

Tuffnut leaned over to whisper something in Snotlout's ear, apparently just loud enough that his twin heard it and soft enough that Hiccup didn't.

Ruffnut furiously jerked away from Astrid, hair flying undone, and pounced on her brother. "Shut up, Frogbrain! Not this time!"

"What?" said Hiccup.

No one paid him any notice but Astrid, who sighed. "Nothing, Hiccup."

"_Hey_!" Tuffnut yelled as his sister pummeled him to the ground. Ruffnut grinned triumphantly, pinning him down, only to be flipped onto her back a moment later, places reversed. She threw random punches at his face, laughing.

Astrid leaned over towards Hiccup, a tiny smile on her face as she watched the twins scuffle. "They'd never admit it, but they're best friends."

"They're always at each others' throats!"

"Sure; do you think they would be like that if they _weren't_ such good friends?"

Huh. "No, I guess not."

Astrid tilted her head to look at him, realized what she was doing, and jumped up, brushing her skirt off. "Well, um. Yeah. Hey, look, there's Gobber. Break it up, you guys." She grabbed Ruffnut's arm and hauled her away from her brother.

"Aw, come on," Ruffnut complained. "I was winning!"

"_Winning_?" said Snotlout. "By the way, care to tell us about what happened last week with…"

"What-" said Hiccup. The others turned to look at him. "Never mind," he finished.

"All right, men!" shouted Gobber, entering the ring and slamming the gate shut behind him. "Ready for another lesson?"

The four kids standing shuffled their feet. Fishlegs stopped ticking mental facts off on his fingers and leaped up. "Are we doing Nadders now? 'Cause remember when Snotlout and I rescued Hiccup's dad from that one?"

"WHAT?" said Hiccup.

"Yeah, one time during an attack, it was creeping up on him while he was fighting a Nightmare, and we got it…you know?"

Hiccup blinked. "No, actually."

"…Oh." Said Fishlegs, letting it drop.

"Let's get going," Gobber called out, heading across the ring. "Now, pick a shield and pay attention!"

* * *

Later that evening, Hiccup left his house and was on his way to the woods to say good-night to Toothless. He hesitated at the road just before the woods, ducking behind a tree as voices approached. Of course, there came the other teenagers, walking together, laughing at whatever Fishlegs had just said and the comment Tuffnut was adding to it. Snotlout made a failing attempt to put his arm over Astrid's shoulder; Hiccup felt a twist of satisfaction and relief as Astrid slapped him away, speeding up to walk next to Fishlegs and Ruffnut.

Hiccup sort of wondered, what if he was there with them? _Really_ with them, not just as some third wheel (or sixth wheel). What if he could laugh at all their jokes, have honest-to-goodness conversations with them…be _friends_ with them. What if he could? Would he want to?

Yes, he thought. And maybe he would, someday…

But not today.

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Ugh...I don't know if I liked how this one turned out or not. Please let me know what you thought!

God bless!


	5. Human

Yes, another angsty chapter (a proper drabble this time!); the next one will be happier, I promise!

I think this is my favorite one so far; I had a lot of fun writing it. In it I imagine Hiccup is around seven or eight.

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 5: _Human_

_You can only come to the morning through the shadows. -J.R.R. Tolkien _

* * *

The first attack after his mother died was different. Usually, he hopped around under his father's and Gobber's feet, bugging them to let him go outdoors and help with the fighting. They always said, "NO, Hiccup, STAY INSIDE and DON'T MAKE TROUBLE."

He was rarely deterred by this response and went out anyway.

But this time, he made no such effort; he sat inside on a bench, arms crossed over the windowsill, leaning his chin on top.

He watched streams of fire light the sky, sending sparks upwards into the dark night. The bright flames silhouetted familiar figures, pitted against larger, reptilian shapes. Frenzied shouts reached his ears through the smoky air.

There were a couple of the other kids…there was his dad, yelling orders over the din…there were dozens more dragons swooping down over the island, letting off shot after shot. It was a scene he knew well, a scene he generally wanted to be a part of. In some way, the chaos was comforting.

It would be comforting tonight too; tonight was the first his mother was not standing behind him, looking after him. Tonight was the first that she would not instruct him to get to bed, kiss him good-night and then hurry outside to assist her husband.

He knew if he escaped the confines of his house, he could lose himself in the battle, in the fury and death, going on past the window.

He didn't really want to, though…just this once, he wanted to stay in and watch through the glass.

He was silent, eyes blurred, licking away the salty drops that reached his lips. Any other night, he would have grabbed at the world with both hands;

This night,

Hiccup cried.

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Please review!

God bless!


	6. Busy

Hey everyone! Sorry for the long wait...and probably there will be another one after this too. This week I have a million things to do for my creative writing class, and the week after is finals...once school gets out, though, I should have way more time to update.

Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read, reviewed and/or alerted so far! I was thrilled that after the last chapter the reviews doubled...you guys made my day. So, thanks again. :)

Well, I did think I liked this chapter, but then I read the new chapters to two other HTTYD stories that were amazing ("Courage" by Mendicant Bias and "Getting Used to It" by Miss Pookamonga) so now...I'm not so sure. I hope you enjoy it though. :)

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Chapter 6._ Busy_

_"He's gone?"  
__  
"Yes, most afternoons, but who can blame the lad? He can hardly walk through the village without being swarmed by his new fans."_

* * *

Some peace and quiet, for a change, would be really nice.

He could barely step out of the house without being bombarded by the inhabitants of Berk; they could even reach him in the air now that they had dragons of their own. It was mildly aggravating.

He was the little kids' hero. If he sat down somewhere to rest (moving around without one foot was still a bit of a struggle), they would assail him, clambering into his lap and hanging onto his neck. "Hiccup! Tell us a story! Tell us about Toothless!"

He groaned. "Fine, fine. Okay, just sit _down_, guys."

They would settle at his feet, except the smallest ones, who would stubbornly insist on remaining in his lap, and their little faces would all gaze up at his. They were the best listeners, even though they'd all heard the story a thousand times before, and he didn't have to think about his words anymore- they giggled, gasped, cheered at all the right places. He tried to skip some parts, occasionally, but apparently other people were telling the story too.

"And then, Astrid kissed your cheek," one of the girls would sigh, accompanied by the boys making faces, "and said, 'And that's for everything else.'"

"Um, yeah," said Hiccup, turning red, which evidently the kids thought was funny.

Sometimes the other teenagers or even an adult would come along and offer their two cents on what had happened. Snotlout and the twins seemed to especially like doing this.

"And then, when practically all hope was lost, we flew in on our dragons and started attacking the Red Death. I of course risked my life to protect the others-"

"_Yeah_ you did. And while you were so busy doing that I was actually being helpful in the fight-"

"You were not! You were freaking out; I should know, I had to sit there next to you-"

Hiccup intervened. "All right! We get the idea! Moving on."

When he was working in Gobber's shop, he tended not to get much done; he had visitor after visitor, asking all kinds of questions. "So, Hiccup, what would you do if a dragon happened to eat one of your kitchen chairs?"

"What?"

"Well, you know, hypothetically speaking…"

Or

"How do you work the saddle strap again?"

Or

"Can Terrors be house trained? Please say yes."

Or, frequently,

"Can I ride Toothless? Please? Please?"

Gobber eventually put a bolt on the door, which was relieving, but Hiccup also missed getting to know all the islanders; he was catching up on fifteen years.

He had friends now, too, something that was unfamiliar but absolutely fantastic. He loved coming home and finding Astrid waiting on his doorstep. He loved going with everyone else to raid the twins' kitchen. He loved the bonfires and the snowball fights and the dragon races. He loved the silent moments in between when no one spoke but everybody knew exactly what the others were thinking.

The rest of the people on Berk were quite a bit friendlier too. He had never guessed before how much just hearing half a dozen, "Hi, Hiccup!"s on his way to work would lift his spirits. He was forever being asked for advice on every subject known to man; when he talked, for the first time in his life people actually _listened_. Not to say that they always acted on what he said- they certainly didn't stop being awfully stubborn- but it's still something to finally be heard.

Stoick was doing his best with his son; it was difficult learning to be a caring dad, but he put all the effort he had into it. This meant there were a lot more father-son bonding fishing trips (how exhilarating). Besides this, Stoick also taught Hiccup a pile of things- how to steer the ships, how to run the village's inventory, how to keep up good relations with nearby islands. Some of it was boring, but some of it was fun, and Hiccup was a lot better at it than the Viking chief had expected. It made Stoick wonder what else he didn't know about his son, what else he had missed all these years, and he spent many wonderful hours with his boy, finding out.

And then, of course, there was Toothless. Whenever he could, Hiccup escaped to the skies, gliding over the glassy ocean, reaching out to touch the clouds. Even on land, there was nothing the boy liked better than to be with his best friend. If he ever stumbled, Toothless would always be there to steady him again. They would go down to the lake where they had first met and Hiccup would sit against his dragon, whose tail curled gently around him, feeling the thrumming of his great steady heart.

They would return to the village after a while, greeted by anyone and everyone who happened to be outside right then. There would be more rounds of questions and pleas for help (mostly concerning dragon-related business). There would be more studying to do and work to finish and new people to become acquainted with.

Yes, he thought at times, some peace and quiet would be nice…

But, really…

This was okay, too.

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Please review! Thank you!

God bless!


	7. Unlucky

Hi, everyone! Thanks for waiting. School is finally out, so I should be able to post more often now. :) Hope you all had a great beginning of June!

This chapter is set pre-HTTYD and I think the next chapter (less angsty) will kind of go with it.

By the way, I completely re-did Chapter 2 (Thanks, logan! :) ) so if you would read the new version I would be most grateful.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 7. _Unlucky_

_"Oh, perfect. And while I'm busy, Hiccup can cover the store. Molten steel, razor-sharp blades, lots of time to himself - what could possibly go wrong?"  
_-_HTTYD_

_Elphin was widely regarded by the clan as the most unlucky youth who ever lived. Nothing he set his hand to flourished, and nothing he ever attempted came to good. Stories about his astonishing bad luck were told from one end of Gwynedd to the other.  
_-Stephen R. Lawhead, _Taliesin_

* * *

Hiccup knew that Stoick was _considerably_ reluctant to ever leave his son without supervision around hot/sharp/dangerous things. Kind of like Gobber. And the rest of Berk. It was rather humiliating. After all, the boy wasn't_ that_ clumsy.

With this thought Hiccup always came to a pause. _Well_, even if he _was_, it wasn't _his_ fault! Do you think he _tried_ to set Gobber's shop on fire that once? Certainly not; it was a complete and total accident. And the time he attempted to bring down a dragon- a Monstrous Nightmare, no less- and instead, it brought down the pier? He hadn't quite been bargaining it would be so fast.

It was just a mistake. Everybody made mistakes, but somehow Hiccup's always managed to be worse than everyone else's.

People largely avoided him- 1) because he was not known for being entirely normal and 2) because he tended to cause problems wherever he went.

Oh, it got better as he got older. He figured out when his mouth should stay shut and when to keep his hands off anything that didn't need to be messed with. At least, for the most part; he sort of blurted things out now and then which got him _Hiccup, you're so weird _glances, and occasionally he slipped up, everything got away from him and BAM he had a disaster to deal with.

Like when he left the storerooms' doors open during a dragon raid and most of the winter supplies got pilfered. Or when he made one of the ships blow up (how on earth had it actually happened? He still didn't have that figured out yet). Or when he was working on a project in the Great Hall and unintentionally sawed one of the tables in half. It could have happened to anyone, he tried to tell his dad every time, but Stoick cut him off. "_No_, Hiccup. It's _always you_."

He said he was sorry. He cleaned up after himself, unless his father, infuriated, sent him home and told him to stay in his room till he turned eighty. Hiccup promised over and over he would do better next time; but for Stoick (and most of the other islanders) that was an issue because there eternally _was_ a next time. It was this awful endless cycle.

Whenever (Heaven forbid!) the Viking chief left his son alone for a bit, they had pretty much the same exchange: "Now, Hiccup, why don't you maybe sit and read and not do ANYTHING FOOLISH until I get back?"

"Dad," said Hiccup, who had been through all his books enough times to have them memorized cover-to-cover, "I can't read all my life."

"I know." _That's what I'm afraid of._ "Just today, okay? And tomorrow I promise we can go fishing together."

"Fishing?" The boy sighed. _Better be careful with news like that,_ he though sarcastically. _I might die of excitement._ "Fine, all right."

Stoick relaxed, somewhat at least. "I would prefer to come back and find the house in decent shape. Not trashed. Not a pile of ashes."

"I've never burned down a house," Hiccup protested.

_Not yet you haven't._ "Just use your head a little, son." _Please?_ "I'll be back by supper." He sometimes added, "Good luck."

Because the kid could use it.

* * *

Please review!

God bless!


	8. Blessed

This chapter is really different...I wrote it a lot for myself, and it turned out kinda spiritually. I was thinking about so many parts of my life that weren't fantastic while I was in the middle of them, but they all ended up having a purpose and they all worked out so I was a better person for them. So that's what it's supposed to be about; I guess you can interpret it however you want.

Disclaimer: _HTTYD_ is not mine.

* * *

Chapter 8. _Blessed _

_So tell me, what is our ending? Will it be beautiful?  
_-Barlowgirl, "Beautiful Ending"

* * *

Standing on the hill, faced with the vast night sky and a single shot, thank you for a clear one.

Tromping through the green-canopied forest, crying to the sky for a little favor here now and then, thank you for leading my feet to the trail.

And for who the trail led to, downed in a valley with a lake, for the noiseless touch of his nose to my palm, thank you, thank you, thank you.

When people make degrading comments, thank you for sarcasm (keeps me alive) and the occasional decent comeback.

During training, when the ring echoes with other voices pointedly ignoring mine, thank you for Gobber, who is, if not quite encouraging, at least tolerant.

Escaping to the heady rush of wind, high above the confines of the island, thank you for the perfect inexplicable enigma of wings.

Back on solid ground again, all misbehavior in the air forgiven, thank you for hopelessly stubborn, clever, sweet, fearless, Useless Reptiles.

Attempting awkward conversation, thank you for fathers who really do want to connect with their difficult kids.

Helplessly losing my best friend to white sails on the distant horizon, thoughts of their almost certain destruction trailing on and on, thank you for insistent girls who mostly understand.

And thank you for other kids who finally want to understand too.

Between walls of smoky flames, wondering if I'll be around see another day, thank you for courage, thank you for my father's face as he said he was proud, thank you for teamwork, thank you for a chance to prove myself, at last.

Right there at the end, thank you for giving my best friend just enough strength to reach me in time. Because it was so close.

Thank you for everyone (dragons included) who cared enough to wait for me through the deep black in-and-out silence that followed.

And then afterwards, thank you for all the hugs, the shoulder-pats, the smiles, for the _acceptance_.

Thank you for the bonfire that destroyed all the dragon-killing manuals, and months later, thank you for the pens that created new dragon-_training_ ones.

Thank you for the "Hey, wanna come over tomorrow?"s; thank you for laughter; thank you for discussions; thank you for friends.

Thank you for the havoc of the village, and turned over thank you for the incredible peacefulness of the forest, the ocean, the sky.

Thank you for Toothless, who is willing to sit still while little kids run their fingers over his nose, and while I fill up pages and pages of my sketchbook with him.

Thank you every day for the future I can see before me.

Thank you, most of all, for giving me things to be grateful for in whatever situation;

Because then when people look where I am now and say, "Hiccup, you're so lucky."

I can see what it's always been: no, not lucky.

Blessed.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who has read and/or reviewed so far! God bless you guys!


	9. Oblivious

I'm kinda out of it right now. Lately I'm more into _Inkspell_ and talking cowboys and astronauts *cough_ToyStory3_wasAWESOME!cough* than Vikings and dragons...which means I might not get another chapter written until the movie comes out (hopefully in July!)...I guess I'll see how it goes.

Anyway! This is a little drabble about Mrs. Haddock...I find her pretty interesting and a lot more understanding than Stoick, poor guy. I hope you like it. :) (And let me know what you think of the kids...I'm not great at writing elementary-school-agers. :/ )

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

Chapter 9. _Oblivious_

_Quid mihi aufert qui ridet? (What does he take away from me who laughs at me?)_  
-Petronius, _Satyricon_

* * *

His mother hated doing laundry. She did it outside whenever there was decent weather; she hated staying indoors too.

Hiccup had halfway inherited this from her; he didn't mind being inside now and then. But if the sun was out, so was he, and so was she.

One morning, when the sky was blue and cloudless, she dragged a basket of clothes that needed to dry into the yard and over to where a line was strung up from the house to a nearby scraggly tree.

Five-year-old Hiccup was busy in the doorway, tongue stuck between his teeth, scraping away at a little brick of wood with a knife. He had borrowed the knife from Stoick, conveniently forgetting to ask permission of any grown-ups (they mostly told him NO). His mother didn't usually mind things like that, though, so he risked using it within her range of sight.

She got bored of wet laundry quite quickly and went to see what he was up to. "What are you making?" she asked, kneeling beside him.

He grabbed the knife out of the way and proudly held up his chunk of wood, which sported a head and a tail of some kind, plus maybe wings. She wasn't sure, because one wing (if that's what they were) seemed to have broken. "Oh," she said, good-naturedly.

"It's a dragon," he offered helpfully.

"Ohh," she said again, enlightened. "I see it. Very nice."

He beamed a Hiccup beam and went at it with the knife again. She leaned past his arm to study what he was doing. Fixing the wing, she assumed. He really was doing an okay job; there was hope for the rather lopsided dragon yet.

Eventually (reluctantly) she shook her focus away from his little fingers pushing curled shavings of wood onto the ground and returned to her basket of laundry, brushing dirt off her knees. As she pinned things up, she sent occasional glances at her son, who was still working contentedly on the doorstep.

Not for too long, though. After a while Snotlout and Tuffnut came tromping up the path from the center of the village. Hiccup stiffened and scooted backwards, as if trying to get away from them (but the bright sun was too much of a pull to go all the way inside). As expected, they turned up towards his house.

"What're you doing?" Snotlout asked. He had just turned six and was pretty much king of the island, as far as he was concerned.

"Nothing," said Hiccup, sticking the knife and the carved figure behind his back and wincing a little. Not that they ever actually did anything to hurt him, not physically at least- he was the chieftain's son, after all. It did have some advantages.

Snotlout rolled his eyes. "Okay. Keep whatever lame thing you're working on to yourself. Me'n Tuff don't care. Nope. Stick bug."

Hiccup cowered under the words (he was only five, and what the bigger boy said did bother him a bit).

Snotlout smirked and, emboldened, spit at Hiccup's feet. Hiccup jerked the toes of his boots away like it was acid. "Stick bug," Snotlout repeated, then turned and started up to the path again. Tuffnut stared after him for a second, then stared at Hiccup, trying to think of an equal insult and coming up dry. "Toothpick," he said venomously. He stuck his tongue out and darted away to join his friend.

Hiccup sighed. Even Gobber called him a toothpick.

(There was a little recompense. Astrid didn't usually let people other than herself get away with messing with Hiccup, or anyone else, without a, "You jerk!")

He leaned despondently against the doorframe and jumped when, a moment later, his mother sat down next to him, putting her arm over his shoulders. "You okay?"

"Yes," he said, as his dragon and pilfered knife dropped from his fingers onto the ground.

"They're just being let's-see-how-much-we-can-get-away-with boys. They'll grow up."

"I know."

"I'm sorry, honey."

"I know."

"Don't listen to what they say, all right? Let it go, like water off a duck's back." She looked pleased with herself for passing on some motherly wisdom.

"So first I'm a stick bug, now I'm a duck?" said five-year-old Hiccup.

His mother smiled. "Atta boy." She picked up the dragon and put it back into his hand, closing his fingers around it.

Hiccup didn't have too many memories left of his mother years after she died, but that was one that didn't fade. He could nearly feel her brush his hair off his forehead, hands still damp from hanging up the laundry.

He tried to follow her advice. At first he quite literally plugged his ears to the teasing that came his way, but later he learned how to disregard people even when he could hear them loud and clear. To his surprise, it generally worked (he threw back sarcastic comments sometimes, too, because they were the only shield he had, but they weren't always so useful).

She was right about another thing, too: the other kids did indeed grow up. In some ways it was good; they stopped blatantly hurling disparagements at him. In other ways it was not so good; they got more subtle and also tended towards slighting him rather than affronting him.

Whatever they did, though, no matter how much it stung (because the truth was it did, if he paid attention to it), he could fight it.

His mother taught him he was strong enough for that.

* * *

Please review!

God bless!


	10. Never Alone

Well, I lied. Here is another chapter and the movie is not out yet. I want to write one tomorrow, too, if I remember.

A little bit of Toothless fluff, since there has been a lack of it in my stories so far. Some of the sentences came out kinda awkward; I messed with them and messed with them and they would not get a hold of themselves. Sorry.

Disclaimer: I don't own _HTTYD_. Or Barlowgirl's song of the same title as this chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 10. _Never Alone_

_A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart.  
_-Heather Pryor

_I cry out with no reply, and I can't feel You by my side, so I'll hold tight to what I know: You're here, and I'm never alone.  
_-Barlowgirl, "Never Alone"

* * *

He stumbled blearily through the forest, dragging his palms over the tree trunks, leaning against them. The moon was full, sprinkling little scatters of light over the earth beneath his feet, so he could see, vaguely, where he was going. He was too exhausted to care, though; away was all he wanted.

Half the time the world had no room for him, and the other half it was much, much too vastly big. At this hour of the night, when the day had worked him up and he couldn't sleep, it was almost both.

His eyelids were getting heavy as anvils (and he should know, working where he did) as he reached a clearing in the trees. He had been thinking about just lying down somewhere and trying to fall asleep again, because it was so late and he was so tired, but he wasn't sure he liked that lonely idea, and then he was met with the sudden rise of boulders and a drop of the forest floor.

He scrambled through the bushes and under the rocks. He slid down the dusty bank and dropped to the ground right where he landed, curling up. His eyes closed at once and he waited for sleep. It did not come.

There was the sound of tiny waves driving up and down a shoreline, over and over, over and over. Restless time passed and then, off somewhere else in the valley, there was the sound of large movement. Coming slowly closer. He scrunched up a little smaller and held his breath for an anxious minute.

Snuffling, familiar rustling, the smell of water and sky and deep, glowing fire. It gathered itself around him, breathing hot air over his face.

He knew this valley. Of course he did. He knew who was here. He relaxed against the warm side of the dragon as soft leathery wings spread out, and he ran his fingers along night-sky blue scales. "Hey, buddy," he murmured.

The dragon's nose nudged affectionately against his shoulder.

"Thanks," he added, smiling, then was caught by a massive yawn.

The Night Fury's breath was steady and followed the rhythm of the waves coming in from the lake. Somewhere a cricket chirped faintly, and wind whispered in the trees. It was dark and still and peaceful.

Some Vikings counted sheep; he never did. He counted dragons. Tonight, he could count only one dragon; one because that marvelous dragon was right there beside him, just when his boy needed him, and he knew he always, always would be…

And one,

because he was fast asleep before he made it to two.

* * *

God bless!


	11. Teacher

Well, I have excuses for why this was not up as soon as I said. Mostly, I was busy. I started driver's ed this week.

Which is mostly where the idea for this came from (What if Berk had some form of dragon ed?), and then I started thinking about when I helped with Vacation Bible School this summer. So a lot of this story is based on personal experience.

I realized the other day that I never said thank you to the reviewer Movie Pirate for providing the quote for chapter six. Oops. Well, sorry, and thanks. :)

Disclaimer: Not mine.

I think this story sounds choppy. I don't know what else to do with it, though. Hope you like it. :)

* * *

Chapter 11. _Teacher_

_Docendo disco. (By teaching I learn)_

* * *

He and Astrid were approached some months later by Gobber; apparently, some of the adults had been complaining about their (and others') children's obvious lack of instruction on the subject of dragon riding.

"You two want to help out?"

Astrid said it was up to Hiccup, and he said, "Sure, why not?"

They were assigned to a class of seven kids, all a few years younger than they were and beyond ready (if not exactly _prepared_) to jump right in and start riding (hence there were some issues with concentration).

"You should be a little nervous," said Hiccup on Day One. "You're going to be responsible for your own life and also your dragon's."

The students, shuffling their feet and eyeing Toothless, who had come along to help with giving examples, looked anything but nervous.

"Listen up!" shouted Astrid. "You're not ready to pay attention, you can leave!"

The kids sat a little straighter. Hiccup bit back a grin. "Er. Thank you, Astrid. Okay; we're going to start with studying your surroundings."

For the most part, teaching the class was interesting. Not incredibly fun, but interesting. Hiccup found that managing most dragons was different from managing a Night Fury. Toothless did not randomly dart off chasing birds, for instance, and he certainly did not have two heads. Astrid knew a lot more about handling kids than Hiccup had expected, too, once she stopped having to yell to get them to focus. Hiccup's biggest surprise was that he himself wasn't bad at dealing with them, either.

He and Astrid worked pretty well together on the teaching part: she was good at explanations and pointing out the details he missed, and he was good at demonstrations.

That, demonstration, was by far the best part, and the part the students looked forward to. Astrid had to remind Hiccup several times to keep the showing off to a minimum, when he was up in the air and the kids were below on the ground, staring up at him with wide eyes.

There were also far less enjoyable parts. Already there had been several dragon-riding-related injuries among the islanders. Falling off was obviously the biggest worry, and an entire day was dedicated to learning to hold on properly, in whatever circumstance.

Despite their appearance at first glance, the students _were_ learning. They asked questions ("Hiccup, can you and Toothless go upside down?" "Yep." "Can I?" "Absolutely not."), they remembered things from day to day, they put effort into their assignments. None of them had the patience Hiccup had when he taught himself to ride Toothless, and none of them understood the technicalities of dragon anatomy as it applied to flying, but overall they were a pleasant (if antsy) group to spend two weeks with. During break times, everyone just talked: they nagged Hiccup into telling his whole story _again_, and then they all described what they hoped to do when they grew up. Hiccup got to know them quite well, and he decided eventually that the future of the island was in good hands.

On the very last day, the kids would start the actual riding. The first half of the day, when it came, lessons went in one ear and straight out the other. The students had no interest whatsoever in air flow or wind currents, and if they had been enclosed within walls, they would have been bouncing off them.

Finally Astrid tossed her notes on the ground. "I give up," she said.

The kids shot looks in the direction of the (former) training ring, where their brand-new dragons were being kept.

"Okay," said Hiccup with a sigh, "go ahead."

A couple of the students whooped and they all ran off towards the ring.

"Those kids must run on some eternal power source," Astrid observed after them. (Two weeks of day-in-day-out teaching tends to sap your energy.)

The prep stuff took a while.

"Hiccup, I need help with this saddle strap."

"My dragon won't hold still!"

"Can you hold this rope while I pull this buckle tight?"

But at last everyone was up on his or her dragon, settled and (hopefully) secure enough to be safe. "Ready?" Astrid called from the ground. "Go!"

Hiccup went up on Toothless for a little while just to get things started and instruct where it was needed, but then he landed again and slid off his dragon's back next to Astrid.

"It's weird, isn't it?" she said. "Seeing them up there. Everything they know about riding we taught them, and someday they'll teach it themselves."

"Yeah," Hiccup agreed. "Makes me feel a lot older, especially remembering how I saw things when I was that age." He paused and smiled tiredly. "In some ways, though, I don't think I ever want to see a twelve-year-old again."

She laughed and grabbed his hand. "I always feel like that after I babysit Ruff and Tuff's little siblings. But know what? It's worth it."

Gobber joined them a few minutes later, watching the shrieking kids race each other across the sky. "Nice job," he said. "You survived."

"Mostly," said Hiccup, ducking as a Gronkle and its ecstatic rider swooped down over his head.

"Sooo…" Gobber continued. "What were you guys thinkin' about for next year? Want to work this again?"

The teenagers glanced at each other. Astrid shrugged. "Well…" said Hiccup, looking up again at his euphoric new dragon riders. He broke off into a crooked grin. "Sure, why not?"

* * *

God bless!


	12. Redhead

Hey, I'm back! Just a shortish little drabble to get myself into the "writing mood". I haven't been at all lately.

I have to say, THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story! It really makes my day. :) And **.4ever2010 **(I know that's not your whole penname but it won't let me post the first half for some odd reason) - I totally just realized what you meant in your review of last chapter! Yes, that was the end of that story. Wow, I feel smart... :/

I've had this idea in the back of my head for a long time. It's basically the story of my life. I have red hair and I must admit, it is a pretty heroic hair color. ;) But it can be annoying sometimes; mine gets very frizzy.

Disclaimer: I do not own _HTTYD_.

Hope you like it!

* * *

Chapter 12. _Redhead_

_What an impetuous boy he is! I like his hair so much. _  
-Oscar Wilde, _The Importance of Being Earnest_

_He DID have Heroic Hair.  
_-Cressida Cowell, _How to Train Your Dragon_

* * *

Hiccup had red hair. When he was little, it was brown.

Brown, brown, brown.

Because his _father's_ hair was red, and compared to Stoick's, Hiccup's was the color of mud.

No one else on Berk was convinced. It came up at the most random times, and people seemed to like pointing it out to him: "Your hair is red."

Well, thanks, I think.

Eventually he realized that, despite the fact it was browner than Stoick's, his hair did indeed have a red tint to it. Something along the lines of raspberry or auburn.

So he gave in. It was red.

Red hair is…difficult, to say the least. What's one thing that pops into your head when you think of red hair?

A fiery temper, right?

His father was a good example of this. His temper could blow the roof off a house. People knew not to push Stoick's buttons, because of where it could land them (like on a little rowboat, smack in the middle of the ocean).

Hiccup, on the other hand, decidedly did _not_ have a temper. He got frustrated, angry, but not quickly. He could calm himself down pretty easily too.

Later on, when he was chieftain after his father, the island's residents took a little while to figure this out because of the delightful legacy Stoick had left behind.

Another thing is, again, people enjoy informing you of your hair color when it's red: "Your hair is red." Like maybe you didn't realize before.

And have you ever noticed? Whenever someone needs an example of something, like, for example, percentages, they use redheads as one of the factors. Redheads versus people with brown hair. Redheads versus people with blond hair.

Also, red hair tends to frizz when it's wet or cold.

These were the downsides.

But it was really okay. Astrid liked red hair; it stood out; after saying, "Your hair is red," a lot of people add, "I wish mine was, too." There were enough upsides to outweigh the downsides.

When Hiccup grew up, got married, had kids, they had strawberry-colored hair. Blond and lots of red.

And he taught them to be very proud of it.

* * *

One more disclaimer: I think other hair colors are great too, it's just I have the same as Hiccup so I can relate. :)

God bless!


	13. Troll Hunter

I start school tomorrow and I thought it would be only fair to write one more chapter of this before I get overloaded by homework. :) I'm thinking about maybe three or four more chapters and then wrapping it up?

You guys, ninety-eight reviews! I am so blown away by how great all of you are. I can't thank everyone who's been reading/reviewing this enough.

So, this chapter I like a lot more than the last couple. Hope you like it too. :) It's sort of supposed to be an interpretation of the quote below from the movie and, also, I was just thinking about how, when you're little, you believe in all kinds of stuff and when you're older you wish you could go back to those days. Do you know what I mean? So the ending's a little symbolic too, if that makes any sense. (My sister often reminds me that more things make sense in my head than they do in real life. :) )

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

Chapter 13. _Troll Hunter_

_From the time he could crawl, he's been... different. He doesn't listen; he has the attention span of a sparrow! I take him fishing, and he goes hunting for... for trolls!_  
-_HTTYD_

_It's a magical world, Hobbes, ol' buddy...Let's go exploring!_  
-Bill Watterson, _Calvin and Hobbes _

* * *

Fishing. To my dad it is the epitome of father-son bonding time.

"So, Hiccup, what d'ya say we take a day off, and head down to that pond in the forest? Good fish this time a' month." He looks at me half-hopefully.

Well, not exactly what I'd been hoping for…I mean, we've already gone fishing twice over the past couple weeks. It's not very exciting. But he's trying, I think, and I had been bugging him about getting out of the house…

"Sure, Dad."

I'm never sure whether he takes me fishing because he actually thinks I enjoy it; because it's the only thing he can stand doing with me; or because it's so easy that I couldn't possibly turn it into some kind of disaster.

Maybe a combination of the last two.

He loads the fishing gear into my arms and instructs me not to break anything. We take our usual path out of the village and into the woods beyond, tramping and, in my case, frequently tripping, over the brush-ridden ground, still soggy from the rain the night before. Our camp is set up in the usual spot: a large pond a ways into the forest, surrounded by mossy trees and, at the edge of the greenish water, some logs that were probably put there when my great-great-great-grandfather was alive.

My father does not say a word as we bait our hooks and cast our lines into the pond. I make an attempt at starting a conversation. "How's work going?"

He grunts. I'm not sure how to take that. "Oh. Um."

He's probably sending thoughts in my direction. It's gotten to the point where I can tell what he wishes he could say to me just by looking at his face. _Quiet, Hiccup. Just watch your line, okay? Let's agree to sit for a while in companionable silence. _Silence_ being the key word there. Wouldn't want to scare the fish away, yeah?_

So I keep my mouth shut and try to entertain myself by watching dead leaves drift out of the treetops and down onto the surface of the pond, sparking little ripples where they land.

After sitting on a rotting log for three hours, my dad has caught half a dozen good-size fish. I have caught zero. Actually, I got one, but it escaped as I was reeling it in.

Stumps are really uncomfortable seats, did you know that? I concentrate on not squirming and tug my fishing pole, so that, hopefully, to some incredibly gullible fish, the worm on the end of my line will look sort of alive.

Evidently all of the gullible fish are on my dad's side of the pond, and I got stuck with the smart ones. They are not coming near my line.

Another half hour passes, very, very slowly. I decide that fishing must be the single most boring pastime on the island. From every side, the forest is begging me to explore it. I cough and glance sideways at my dad to suggest that maybe we could wrap this up for today.

He's not so good at picking up on cues like that, unfortunately. Instead, he gets tired of our companionable silence and, as he expertly reels in another fish, comments, "Did I ever tell you about when I was your age? I had taken down a Monstrous Nightmare and was beginning my career as Chieftain…"

He has indeed told me this before. "That's great, Dad."

"Yes sir, I was responsible for the welfare of Berk by the time I turned eighteen. Knew the inhabitants by name; led them out in battles against the _dragons_-" he spits out the word. I poke hesitantly at the scummy pond water with a stick.

"You're going to be taking my place one day, Hiccup, and I want to see the island in good hands," he continues.

Here it is. The "Grow Up" speech I've been getting since I was old enough to understand my lot in life.

A gust of wind scatters leaves across the pond.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Wha-? Oh, yeah, sure."

He keeps talking. My hand falls asleep on the fishing pole. The urge to venture out into the forest is stronger than ever.

Last night I read a book when I should have been in bed, asleep. It was about trolls. I twist around to look into the woods behind me. They hide behind the trees and then-

"Hiccup!"

I jump a foot in the air. "What!"

My father scowls and motions to my fishing line. "I think ya got something."

I did get something. It is about the size of my hand. Which, let me remind you, is about two times smaller than that of an average Viking. I toss the tiny fish back into the pond.

Time continues to inch by. Afternoon fades into early evening. I fight back yawns and play with my line where it's attached to the fishing pole.

My dad actually falls asleep. Man, that was unexpected. I stare at him for a good five minutes to make sure he's not going to wake up suddenly. Laying my fishing pole quietly on the ground, I stand up and look around.

The trees are beginning to cast shadows. The wind picks up for a moment and then dies down, rustling the branches above my head.

Gobber used to tell troll stories, too, when I was littler. Something makes a noise in the bushes on the other side of the pond and, naturally, I think, "Troll!"

Okay, okay, so maybe it wasn't the most logical train of thought, but hey, what better thing to do when you're in the middle of the woods at twilight than hunt for creatures most everyone else believes are imaginary? It's a little ethereal. And, besides, I had to make up for the deathly boring rest of my day.

So, digging my pocketknife out of my, well, pocket, I approach the offending shrubs. "Show yourself!"

Nothing happens. I kick at the bushes. Still nothing. "Okay, I'll give you one more chance! Otherwise you will have to face none other than Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third!" I threaten.

Don't look at me like that. It was worth a shot.

Something moves slightly in the bush farthest away from me. Before I can get a look at it, it's gone, disappeared behind a nearby tree.

I follow its trail of crackling branches, glancing back now and then to make sure I can find the way to the pond again. This only serves to confuse me more, until I am thoroughly lost, chasing after a troll in the gathering dusk.

I know it's a troll because at one point I catch a glimpse of what must be its shadow. Disfigured and hunched over, and possibly with a tail. Do trolls have tails?

I lose it eventually. Its footsteps grow softer and softer until they vanish entirely. There are no more rustling bushes. The woods are darker than ever, and I sit down on the ground, wondering faintly what to do. Moving is not much of an option, since I have no idea which direction I came from. I have heard that people who are lost tend to go in circles, round and round and never getting anywhere. So I stay put.

My dad finds me. I figured he would (he reminds me on a frequent basis how good he is at smelling out trouble. I assume I positively reek of it, and that's why he always knows where I'm at). He is irate, and reasonably so. I decide if I value my life I should stay quiet until he finishes with his tirade.

"I never met anyone as foolish as you are! You could have been killed!"

Death is still a distinct possibility. "I'm sorry," I say cautiously.

"You bet you are! You are _grounded_, Hiccup, until you are old enough to control yourself!"

"I can still work at Gobber's, right?"

"Well, yes. Other than that, though, you MAY NOT leave the house under ANY circumstances unless it is _burning to the ground_. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir. I just- I just- I saw a troll and had t' go investigate-"

"You WHAT? You saw a TROLL? A NONEXISTANT creature? And you-" He turns and gives me a good stare, like he honestly can't believe I'm a rational human being. "You read _way_ too much." He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. Then he gets this awkward look on his face like he is trying very, very hard not to laugh. In fact, that might be just what he is doing.

"Sorry," I offer again.

He shakes his head. "There are no such things as trolls. I'm not kidding you. There are actually these things that live in the forest, called animals. Some common examples are rabbits, deer and foxes. They walk around and make noise and sometimes if you see one your imagination can get carried away into thinking it's something else." He glances at me again. "Give it some thought while you're serving your punishment. And no more fishing trips, all right?"

Yes! But I pretend to be downcast. "Okay…"

He keeps his word. There are no more fishing trips for a long time.

Until after everything that happens with the dragons, and when we finally dig out our fishing rods again, Toothless is there to join us.

We head out into the woods, and while I do try _really_ hard to ignore the shifting shadows and the trees calling out to be climbed and the deer paths demanding to be followed…

We wait till my dad falls asleep and then I mount my Night Fury. "Come on, buddy." I lean over to speak into his ear. He pushes off, soaring up through the trees and into the sky. "The world is waiting. Let's go catch us some trolls."

* * *

God bless!


	14. Father

I'm back! I'm sorry for taking so long but hopefully some of you are still here. :) This was a fun drabble to write, and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to **logan** for suggesting an idea like this; and thank you to **TheBlueFoxtrot A Samba** for her _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ drabble story, "Warehouse of Imaginings," which was inspiring. (You should take a look at her X Men Evo Fanfiction Challenges forum if you like X-Men. Shameless plug. :) )

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Dedicated to my little brothers and sisters, with love.

* * *

Chapter 14. _Father_

She takes his hand and brings it to her stomach. "Here, Hiccup. Feel that?"

He smiles. "Yes."

The baby makes Astrid tired; she doesn't like getting out of bed in the morning, needs to lean against him when she walks anywhere. The baby makes her grumpy. "I_ don't look good_ right now, Hiccup, okay? Stop lying to me."

But it isn't a lie. He thinks she looks beautiful.

He couldn't quite get used to the idea of a little person growing inside her until the kid is actually born, all the extended family has gathered at their house, come to meet the newest member, and Stoick's pounding him on the back, grin splitting from ear to ear. "I'm a grandpa!"

And he—_he, Hiccup_—is a daddy.

Astrid twines her trembling fingers through his. Her face is pale, her eyes dark with exhaustion, but she is positively glowing. "Look at him! He's so tiny! Look at his eyes—green, like yours! And his toes, and his nose, and his ears—oh my goodness, he's the cutest little thing I've ever seen. What should we name him?"

Ah, it doesn't matter. (Just don't name him Hiccup the Fourth, okay, sweetie?)

The baby is just perfect. He spits up and cries all night and pulls Toothless's tail. He is always needing to be changed; Astrid is always refusing to be on diaper patrol; and Hiccup is always giving in and doing it himself.

Stoick, despite being an enthusiastic grandfather, is actually not all that big on babysitting.

So Hiccup does that too.

He gets the first smile all to himself. The first laugh, the first 'dada' and 'Toofiss' (Toothless). Astrid is there too for the first step, and she finds the first tooth one day while the baby is being fed.

Hiccup cannot remember a time he got enough sleep at night. Cannot remember a time his world didn't revolve around the kid who invaded their home and made them a family.

He takes the baby outside to toddle around in the woods behind the house. He makes sure it's soft, grassy, no sharp rocks hiding in the dirt and no pointy twigs sticking out of the underbrush. He watches his little boy suck on his fist and point at the birds chasing each other across the sky. The scariest thing Hiccup can think of is what if I raise him wrong? What if I can't give him everything he needs?

And the best is what he'll become someday. He looks more like his mama with each passing week; he can make animal noises and says 'buh-bye!' whenever someone leaves the house.

The baby dumps a pinecone at Hiccup's feet and sings away, "Ah-ah-bah-bah-bah." Hiccup echoes instinctively; the baby giggles, kicks at another pinecone and collapses into his daddy's lap.

Astrid comes outside, closing the back door behind her. "Are you guys going to be ready for dinner soon?"

Hiccup pulls her down to sit beside them and kisses her forehead. The baby reaches for her ("Mama!") and laughs again as she gathers him into her arms.

"In a minute," Hiccup tells her.

"Okay," she says.

A minute is good.

* * *

Hm, too cliched?

Thanks for reading! I hope you all've had an awesome most-of-the-school-year. God bless!


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